Smoke, A OneShot
by compassrose7577
Summary: In the aftermath of battle, the search for Jack is on. This one-shot is in response to the prompt was "Smoke". It's the debut of an OC who made her appearance and then refused to leave.


**Smoke**

**There** is no sound louder than the sound of silence, especially after the cacophony of battle. Cannon roaring, pistols cracking, the clash of swords and the shouts of men all fall away, into a deafening nothing.

As the _Black Pearl_ had swung into her position, Jack had sent her below, brooking no argument that she was to find someplace safe and stay there. Brusquely, he shoved a pistol in her hand, and with a drilling, eye instructed her: "Save this for yourself." A quick kiss on the forehead, and he was gone.

She could hear the gun crews from below, preparing. Even so, knowing what was to come, she jumped violently at the first bark of the cannon. It struck her odd, how the sound of a cannon, fired in practice, sounded different than one fired, in attack. With each volley that followed, the noise reverberated through the hull of the _Pearl_, every plank vibrating. The sharp, acrid smell of gunpowder and clouds of blue-grey smoke spilled into the great cabin, engulfing her in the battle, as well.

She felt the _Pearl_ shudder as she took her first wound, and shudder, again, at the second, the visceral sound of the mizzenmast splintering, overhead. She could hear the pounding of feet, as they retreated from the quarterdeck, followed by the crash of wood and canvas falling to the deck.

As the ringing in her ears cleared, the noises of the aftermath filled the silence: running feet, frantic shouts, and the wrenching cries of the wounded. It was those cries that brought her out of hiding, not necessarily because of them all, but because of the one she might be hearing and was, so far, unaware.

The decks hung in a fog of smoke, misting about everyone's shoulders and heads. She could feel the film of it on her skin, clinging to her own perspiration. Watching the faces of the men pass, she wondered if her own face was masked as they were, the whites of their eyes gleaming against the black soot.

Picking her way across the deck, it was strewn with men everywhere, most she recognized, some she did not. Some snatched at her skirts, begging for help, others were too far gone. Others were gone completely, their eyes staring blank, sometimes, a little shocked. The men who had come through the battle, unscathed, were doing what they could to help the injured, each ship seeing to their own men.

Stopping at anyone who could talk, she inquired about the whereabouts of the captain, but no one could say for sure. Finally, one was able to mumly gesture toward the other ship. She hesitated, apprehensive what Jack would say if he found her crossing over to the other ship, but her concern for him far surpassed any fear of his admonishments.

The boarding planks were still in place, binding the two ships inescapably from each other. Hitching her skirts, she tentatively slithered her way across, trying not to look down at the water below. It was difficult to ignore the flotsam of wood and canvas, bodies floating among the debris. Slipping several times in the blood spattered on the planks, she gave a huge sigh of relief when her feet actually touched down on the decks of the opposing ship.

The cannon smoke here hung even heavier, a shoulder-high shroud that obscured anyone standing, giving them a ghastly headless appearance. The smell of gunpowder seemed even stronger, mixed heavily with the sharp metallic smell of blood, and the occasional offal of death. Tiptoeing, she picked her way across the deck, the crunching of shattered glass underfoot. Spread to slow the progress of boarders, the smashed bottles offered more hindrance than help to those on board, now. The decks had been strewn with sand as well, to help allow firmer footing as the blood of the wounded spread. She felt the soft grinding of the sand under her shoes, the squelching of blood and the slippery slurry of both.

Damaged as she may have been, the _Black Pearl_ had her revenge. Her chain shot had found the masts, severing both of them. One had fallen across the chasm between the two ships; several men were using it as another bridge. The other had fallen back, dangling sharply over the rails and into the water beyond. Some of the hatch covers either bore gaping holes, or were completely gone, the cries of the wounded gun crews below, echoing upward.

The crew of the _Pearl_ were scattered about, some injured themselves, attempting to aid others, needing help. One seemed to recall, when she asked, seeing the captain toward the stern, but, again, he wasn't sure. The fog of battle clouded everyone. Scrabbling over the downed mast and its chaotic tangle of canvas and ropes, she finally came across a truly familiar and comforting face. Gibbs was just straightening from an injured crewman. Like the rest, his face was blackened with soot and smoke. Somewhere, in the dim reaches of her mind, she thought as how he looked like some kind of odd zebra as rivulets of sweat drew white streaks down his face and chest.

"I thought I saw him makin' his way aft," he huffed, gesturing with a bloodied hand. She wasn't sure if it was his own, or one of the injured. "There's a lot o' men will be needin' sewin', sir."

"I know, Mr. Gibbs," she replied, distracted. She smiled, internally, at the first mate. Even in the pitch of battle, he was determined to maintain the facade of calling her "Mister", in order to erase the bad luck of having a woman on board. "Bind what you can and get some kind of order of who's worst, and I'll start after I return to the _Pearl_."

Gibbs had been correct. Again, even mired in the chaos of hand-to-hand combat, the first mate had been able to keep abreast of where his captain was. She found Jack, finally. He was sitting on the deck, leaning against the binnacle, his legs splayed out in front of him like a doll dropped in the midst of play, in a pool of his own blood. Gun smoke wafted in sworls around him as she moved toward him.

"Jack!" She fell to her knees next to him, blocking from her mind it was his blood she had just slid in.

"Jack!"

It took a few moments, but his eyes did finally break their blank stare and focus on hers. His arms hung limp at his sides, his sword still gripped in one hand. The right shirt sleeve was ribboned with slashes from blades, bright red and glistening. The front of his shirt was sliced open as well, a deep gash clearly visible, rendering him red past his waist. The smoke had blacked his face as well, streaked with sweat. Blood ran from the side of his head, down one side of his face and into the neck of his shirt, dripping from one of the dangles in his beard.

A slow smile spread across his lips, weakly. He attempted to speak, but had to stop, gulping for air. Swallowing hard, he tried again.

"Hello, luv." His usually gravelly voice was a bare rasp. "Are you all right?"

"God, Jack," she sputtered. She started to scold him for being so misguided, then saw the sincereity and concern in his eyes. "Yes, I'm fine," she answered, biting her lip.

His gaze traveled slowly about the deck, his head falling back against the binnacle, lacking the strength to hold it upright.

"Looks a bit of a mess," he said almost casually. His dark eyes studied her for a moment, his brow furrowing. "You're sure you're all right? You're safe?"

"I'm fine, but I think we should be getting you back to the _Pearl_."

He looked around, appearing surprised at her suggestion. He closed his eyes, struggling for each breath.

"Maybe you should see to the others first." He paused, his brow furrowing as he drew hard for air. "Sounds like some of them need you more than I do."

She turned her head away, not wanting him to see her face. It wasn't a good sign—he didn't even know he was injured. The good of that, was he seemed to be feeling no pain, but that was a seriously bad sign, in and of itself.

"Ye found him, sir." She looked up just as Mr. Gibbs squatted down. He gave Jack a critical eye, then turned to her. "'Pears we need to get him to the _Pearl_."

Dismayed at Gibbs perpetual flair for the understated, she was already tugging at her skirt, ripping long lengths of linen. Gibbs moved to help wrap, pulling Jack away from his resting place. Jack coughed softly at the movement, a small dribble of blood trickling from the corner of his mustache.

"Let's get him bound up, try to stop some of this bleeding..."

"Mother's love!" Gibbs murmured.

She looked up to see Gibbs' deeply troubled gaze at Jack's back. His eyes came slowly to hers, swallowing grimly.

"He's been shot."

Sagging slightly, she swore softly, then took a moment to steel herself. She straightened, continuing to rip strips, as she surveyed Jack. He coughed again, spatters of blood speckling his lip.

"Must have just nicked the lung," she observed, sounding strangely impassive to herself. "Maybe we should just take him to the captain's quarters here, instead of trying to move him."

"Nay, he'll fare better when 'e's on the _Pearl_."

Gibbs rose, waving a beckoning hand at two nearby sailors.

"You!" he shouted. "Yes, you and you, haul it over 'er!"

Choosing to start at Jack's arm, she tried first to pull away the sword. Stubbornly, his hand held, unwilling to release its grip.

"Jack!" she called, quietly. There was no response, his gaze locked somewhere in front of him. "Jack?" she called again, but still got no response. Laying a hand to his cheek, she tipped his head carefully toward her. He blinked, and then tried to smile, but failed. "Let go of your sword, Jack." She tugged gently, urging him with her eyes. "Give me the sword, Jack. Com'mon, let go. I'll watch it for you."

His fingers twitched, but failed to fully open. His grip did lessen enough for her to be able to pull it free, and she laid it reverently on the deck next to him.

"Lend a hand!" Gibbs directed as the two sailors slowly approached.

Blackened and dishevelled, the two exchanged looks, one gulping before speaking.

"But we were off the _Portheus_."

"Well, you're part of the crew of the _Black Pearl_, now," Gibbs pointed out hotly. "Bear a hand and pick up your captain!"

Obediently ducking their heads, like two whipped puppies, the crewmen knelt to assist. It took a few minutes for her to bind Jack's wounds enough to slow the bleeding, all three men lending assistance. A few times, he took a breath, as if to say something, but failed to have the strength. Instead, he kept his eyes locked on her face, his eyes dark and distant.

Finished, she stood back as the men lifted him, his gaze still on her. Upright for only a instant, he blenched, going white under his tan. Jack's eyes rolled back slowly, and he fell unconscious.

"Probably just as well," muttered Gibbs, his own brow furrowed deeply. "Com'mon, lads, let's get 'im moved while 'e's still out."

Stooping slowly, she picked up the sword from the deck, and followed the small procession through the swirling smoke, back to the _Black Pearl_.


End file.
